


How Late

by AmosLee1023



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gay, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Rating May Change, Serial Killers, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 05:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18403598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmosLee1023/pseuds/AmosLee1023
Summary: Logan has known Jameson forever, but lately their relationship isn't what it used to be, and he only wants things to be normal.





	How Late

Logan lay in bed, eyes open and staring off into the darkness of the room while he felt Jameson's presence seeping through the door, on the back of his neck.

Same as always. Three a.m. verging on four, Jameson came home and opened the bedroom door, making a stream of light from the hall break the blackness to show him Logan's back covered by a comforter. Silent, as always, with mere breathing and the sound of his clothes rustling as he took them off. Then, as if a ritual, he climbed into bed behind Logan's woken form and wrapped an arm around him, like he hadn't been gone since eleven in the evening.

Logan could smell Jameson, of something like cheap perfume and sweat. He had dealt with it for two weeks butt this time, when he reached up to take Jameson's hand into his own, he felt that his dinner lacked his couple's ring.

“You smell like cheap perfume,” he said quietly in the dark. And Jameson, as always, was silent.

The next night, when Jameson crawled into bed, “You feel dirty.”

The next, “You smell of sweat.”

Next, “It's late.”

Logan, through the week, only discovered more regrettable things. Stains on Jameson's clothes, as he thumbed over a spot of red in the laundry room. Scratches on Jameson's back when he put his arms around him during intercourse- deep scratches that tire away bits of flesh. A bite mark, on Jameson's shoulder through the collar of his shirt.

Logan lay in bed, eyes open and staring off into the darkness of the bedroom while he felt Jameson's presence seeping through the door, on the back of his neck.

Same as always. Three a.m. verging on four, Jameson came home and opened the bedroom door, making a stream of light from the hall break the blackness to show him Logan's back covered by a comforter. Silent, as always, with mere breathing and the sound of his clothes rustling as he took them off. This same ritual as always, taking another week.

This time, Jameson sat in the edge of the bed and took Logan by the shoulder, rolling him over to his back. Logan looked at Jameson through the light of the hall.

“...What?” he asked, the first he had ever questioned with a tired, monotonously bitter tone to the word. Jameson lacked his shirt and Logan could see the way his left rib cage swelled, with the colors of a midnight sky and oil in water taking over his flesh.

“I messed up,” Jameson said, and Logan looked up at his darkened face of shadows.

“...What do you mean?”

“She got away, this one, this time.”

Logan didn't open his mouth this time. Didn't want to, didn't get to. Police sirens suddenly wailed in the distance.

“Take this,” Jameson said and took up Logan's hand to press something inside of his palm.

“What is it?”

“The place, ...With the bodies. I need you hide them.”

Logan watched Jameson carefully, before slipping his hand away.

“Why?”

“So I can come back home.”

Come back home. How late would he be this time?

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you want more.


End file.
